


Don't Keep Me Waiting

by PrickleBrickleCitrus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Edging, Established Relationship, Fingering, Fluff, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Porn Without Plot, Squirting, Transdroid Connor, sex with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:41:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16239035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrickleBrickleCitrus/pseuds/PrickleBrickleCitrus
Summary: “Do me a favor, sweetheart,” Hank whispers, presses soft kisses along Connor’s cheek and jawline. “Don’t let yourself come until I get home.”





	Don't Keep Me Waiting

Hank’s pace is slow, almost torturous, fingers sliding in and out of Connor’s body at a deliberately measured pace. Connor groans low and loud in to the space of their shared bedroom, his half-lidded eyes fluttering open and closed in the gentle glow of the early morning sun. His hips bear down towards Hank’s fingers, rocking against them as he tries to sink them deeper in to himself.

Hank’s fingers are… unique, in a word. Their width and texture, the skill with which Hank stretches him even wider after they’ve already had sex, it all drives him mad. Connor’s own fingers grasp at the sheets, clamping down like tiny vices and bunching the fabric in tight bundles against his thighs. Both of them have already reached orgasm, but this morning is one of those days that Connor wants Hank to never stop. Wants Hank to fuck him with his fingers until the sun goes down and the moon shines bright in the sky.

He wants to feel the way Hank’s fingers move inside him, wants to hear the filthy wet sounds of his own slick and Hank’s come deep within his body.

It’s a rare day that they get to do this so early in the morning, even rarer knowing that it’s their first day off together in two months. Even though they’re considered partners, Hank’s duties as lieutenant often means he is required to attend meetings and hearings without Connor’s presence. Most days, Connor would simply file additional paperwork on their recent cases while waiting for Hank to finish. Today, Hank took it upon himself to surprise Connor and wake up earlier than usual, pulling Connor from his stasis with deft lips and fingers.

Hank pushes particularly deep inside him and Connor gasps, his eyes snapping shut as his whole body shudders. He replays in his mind the way Hank had initially opened him up, with tongue and lips and fingertips. He views again and again how Hank fucked him in a steady rhythm as the sun rose, filtered in gentle waves through Hank’s silver hair.

The look of love, of adoration that spread over Hank’s face.

A warm hand cupping his cheek.

Words murmured in to his ear, just for him.

Heat coils tight in his belly, spreads throughout his circuity just as the pad of Hank’s thumb rubs tight little circles along his clit. Connor keens, bucks up in to the touch and feels his whole body tremble in waves as Hank pushes him over that last edge. Connor cries out as his back arches against the sheets, his insides clamping rhythmically around Hank’s digits.

As the pulse of his orgasm starts to fade, the sensation of Hank’s palm stroking up and down his thigh brings him back to reality. Hank is whispering soothing words against his skin as Connor’s wires and processors attempt to quench the fire in his veins.

Connor sighs, and Hank’s cell phone rings.

Hank curses and pulls his fingers rather abruptly from Connor’s body. Connor grumbles a little at the emptiness, annoyed at whoever is calling Hank so early.

The conversation on the phone is short and clipped, but Connor is only half-listening. He’s hoping that whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. He’s thought about this shared day off for weeks now and he’s not ready to give it up so easily.

The sound of metal and plastic rattling loud against the nightstand draws Connor from his small little reverie. He looks up to Hank who has frustration painted in thick lines along his features.

“Fucking Fowler. Last minute disciplinary hearing, I gotta be there.”

Hank is already flipping through his wardrobe as he speaks. Connor lifts himself up on his elbows and watches Hank with a curious gaze.

“It isn’t for you, is it?”

Hank snorts as he aggressively dresses himself.

“Nah, but you could probably guess which asshole it is.”

They both sigh, almost in unison. Hank rolls his eyes and Connor scrunches his face.

“Detective Reed, then,” Connor says. He doesn’t try to hide his disappointment.

Hank stalks off to the bathroom, half dressed and cursing the whole way there. Connor still sits on the bed as he listens to the water run from the sink. Entirely unfair, he thinks. Today was supposed to be their day, together. No work, no cases, no nothing.

Connor groans as he falls back against the mattress, hands resting on his belly and legs still spread wide. He really, really doesn’t want Hank to leave, but he knows they have no choice. Imagining Hank’s fingers and Hank’s dick inside him just isn’t the same. Connor closes his eyes and lets one hand drift down his stomach towards his crotch, fingers just barely skimming the top of his sex. He exhales as he runs them through the wetness there, slides a curious digit inside of himself. Hank’s feel so much more right, so much better than his own.

Completely and utterly unfair.

Hank’s soft laughter from the doorway pulls Connor from his thoughts.

“Jesus, you gonna sit there all day like that waiting for me to fuck you?”

Connor hums, turns his head to the side and grins with self-satisfaction.

“Will that be a problem for you, lieutenant?” he sighs, arches his back just a little off the bed as he drives a second finger in to himself.

Connor’s eyes never leave Hank, watches him as the man licks his lips in fascination. His pupils are very dilated and Connor can see the vague outline of an erection starting in his pants. His thirium regulator beats faster in his chest.

Hank shuffles over to him, slides himself in between Connor’s legs and parts his thighs further with a firm grip. He leans down over Connor, their faces inches from each other as Connor continues to slowly fuck himself on his own fingers. Hank is watching him, listening to him as he pants heavily in to the space between their lips.

“Do me a favor, sweetheart,” Hank whispers, presses soft kisses along Connor’s cheek and jawline. “Don’t let yourself come until I get home.”

Connor moans, high-pitched and needy. One of Hank’s hands slides down his thigh and stops just short of his groin, pushing in to the flesh.

“I wanna watch you come apart all over again.”

Connor whines Hank’s name and grasps at his face to kiss him, but Hank pulls away. He reaches between Connor’s legs and slides Connor’s own fingers deeper, the tips of Hank’s just barely grazing the inside of his lips.

“Don’t you dare come, Connor.”

Hank pulls away, leaving Connor feeling empty and cold on the bed by himself. He winks at the android from the entryway before he leaves. The sound of the front door shutting is loud and Connor snaps his eyes shut, trying not to think about how alone he is now. Hank’s words flash across his HUD below his eyelids.

**DON’T LET YOURSELF COME UNTIL I GET HOME**

Without removing his fingers, Connor clamps his legs around his hand and rolls over onto his side. He grinds down slow against the heel, the pressure against his clit making his legs quiver. He replays in his mind the first time Hank fucked him, the overwhelming stimulation that made him come so quickly he needed a soft reboot.

The thought makes him purr as he buries his face in the comforter, his fingers pumping in and out of himself quicker and quicker as he keeps playing memories of Hank in his head. The first time Hank’s fingers touched him, the reverence and care with which they filled him up. The first time Hank kissed him down below, the way his tongue parted Connor’s vulva and dipped inside him like a flash of fire. He remembers how Hank wrapped his lips around Connor’s clit, licking and sucking and moaning against him. How Connor came, the way his toes curled and his vocal modulator gave out as his orgasm ripped through him.

As Connor keeps playing memory after memory, he can feel the familiar build of roiling heat that spreads inward from his extremities all the way to his thirium regulator. It pulses through his circuits and veins like wildfire, ready to burn him from the inside out. He gasps, can practically see the precipice of release in his mind and -

Connor stops. His whole body freezes, fingers immobile inside of himself. Connor whimpers and fights the urge to keep going, the urge to turn himself over on to his belly and rub himself over and over against his hand until he’s a shaking mess. The thought itself makes a shiver run along the circuits of his spine.

His internal clock indicates that only seventeen minutes have passed.

**DON’T LET YOURSELF COME UNTIL I GET HOME**

By sheer force of will, Connor makes himself sit up and pulls his hand out from between his legs. It’s coated in his own fluid, soaked all the way down into his palm. He takes in a shaky breath, brings his fingers to his mouth and licks away all of the slickness. It’s a thirium and mineral solution, one that Hank seems to love despite its lack of flavor.

Hank loves a lot of things about him, Connor muses, but something about the taste of his vagina (his _pussy_ , that’s what Hank calls it whenever they fuck) always makes Hank’s heart rate spike. He can feel it in Hank’s tongue whenever he lathes wetly at his labia and clit. The mere thought of that excites Connor and he can feel the walls of himself twitch in anticipation.

He craves the weight of Hank’s fingers, hungers for the thickness of his cock to fuck in to him over and over and over again. He yearns for Hank to eat him out until errors flash at lightning speed across his eyes, until his optical components give out and the world turns to darkness while his body seizes in pleasure.

Connor _wants, needs_ Hank. The smell of him, the feel of his skin, the texture of his hair and beard, the sounds he breathes in to Connor’s ears when they fuck, the way his mouth vibrates against his skin and his vulva, the heat of his semen when he fills Connor up. Almost on instinct, Connor slinks back against the mattress again and lets his hand wander down towards his groin.

It’s slower this time, less anxious and needy when he slips his fingers between his vulva and massages the nub of his clit. He tries to make his mind go blissfully blank, tries to focus on the immediate pleasure instead of letting his mind wander. He focuses on the texture and feel of his own skin, of the electrical impulses that travel between his fingertips to his brain, from his fingertips to his clit. He allows himself to decrease the sensitivity of his vaginal components, sighing in a combination of frustration and relief when the urge to seek release wanes just a little. His other hand travels down to cup the flushed, hot mound of his vulva and squeezes it in his palm.

The pressure sends a dull throb along his groin and thighs as he bears down against it, rubs himself smooth and languid along the curves of his hand. Little, breathy moans escape him as he finds a workable rhythm, one that won’t push him over the edge immediately. It’s feels _so good_ , the friction and the feedback loop of his own circuits pumping through him in time with the thirium in his veins.

Connor’s hips ache and tingle, growling a little when he rubs against himself faster and harder. In theory, he could make himself come again and again all day waiting for Hank. He knows he would come again and again _for_ Hank when he got home. He groans and remembers how Hank’s fingers felt inside him this morning, the length of his dick filling up his pussy.

Connor whips his hands away from himself before he can even let those thoughts continue to play out in his brain. Hank told him, very clearly, not to come until he came home. Connor has no intention of letting him down. He forces his thirium regulator to slow its beating and does his best to redirect processes to mitigate his frustrations.

They’re only small measures, though, and as Connor tries to find things to occupy him instead of his own hands, he can’t stop himself. He tries to clean the kitchen but winds up laid out on the kitchen table frantically rubbing his clit. When he attempts to rearrange Hank’s records he instead bends himself over the couch and shoves his fingers as deep as they can go into the heat of his pussy.

Connor doesn’t even bother to scrub the bathroom, just takes one look at the tub and whines as a vivid flash of their fuck from last night plays across his eyes. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, he flat out refuses to acknowledge his inner clock for fear of not keeping his promise to Hank. The only thought that whips around his circuits is Hank, _Hank Hank Hank Hank Hank Hank Hank_ -

With trembling limbs and eyes shut tight, Connor curls up back in their shared bed and keeps his hands firmly pinned beneath himself. He fists the sheets and tries to ignore the intense and growing wetness between his thighs. He endeavored earlier to dress himself, but realizes now that it was pointless. His sweatpants are soaked through halfway down his thighs and getting worse by the minute.

An all-consuming, nearly primal urge overtakes him and he gives in to it, sags his hips against the sheets and ruts against them in earnest. He moans and moans, deep and guttural sounds that echo through his entire body as pleasure desire heat fills him, consumes him like molten lead. With a shaky, frantic hand he reaches into his sweatpants and sinks three fingers violently in to his body, pushing and pushing until he can no longer push. Connor can’t wait anymore, every tiny piece of his robotic body thrumming with arousal and need. He doesn’t care, can’t care, won’t care because he needs to feel release in his veins. He wants every process and program to shutdown and free him from this hellish ache that wraps around every joint, bolt and wire.

Connor is sure he’s never peaked so fast and so hard. He’s so close, his own voice a distant echo that grows further and further away with each rough slide of his fingers. He’s never been so eager or ready, so close so close _so close_ -

“I thought I told you not to come, Connor.”

Connor clenches hard around his own fingers, a shudder passing through him like a wave. He hadn’t heard the door open. He hadn’t heard Hank even enter the house. Connor sucks in air and pulls his soaking wet hand from his pants, turns to face Hank at the foot of the bed.

Hank is already hard, Connor can see it straining against his jeans. He hopes that Hank thought about him all day like Connor had, that he was hard the minute he got in the car to come home. He hopes Hank will fuck him open with his fingers, stretch him and feel every inch of his pussy from the inside out.

Connor can’t pull his gaze away as Hank crawls over him, his thick fingers poised and ready at the elastic of his pants. He can feel the calloused skin against his own, a touch so small yet it makes Connor squirm.

“Is that so?”

Connor blinks, his mind so far gone that he doesn’t realize he’d spoken all of his previous thoughts aloud. He swallows.

“Please, Hank. I need - I need you, I need it, I need -”

Hank lets him ramble on as he pulls Connor’s sweats dangerously slow off his hips and down, throws them to the floor without a care. He kneels between Connor’s legs and doesn’t need to part them - Connor does it for him, as wide as he can go.

As an android, Connor doesn’t have out-of-body experiences. He supposes that retreating to his mind palace counts, but he has very little to compare it to. When Hank slips his fingers inside of Connor’s pussy, bends them just so and rubs against the inner parts of his sex, his whole body curls up towards Hank and grasps for him. The sensation is so, so much better than he remembered that he fears whatever life he has will leave him and float away.

Connor isn’t sure if he screams or not. It doesn’t matter, not when Hank’s _perfect - amazing - thick - warm - calloused_ fingers scrape inside of him and push him fiercely over that edge. The world doesn’t disappear like he thinks it should, but it feels like his orgasm sends him to a whole other universe.

When he regains part of his senses, he realizes that he’s gripping Hank’s shirt in his hand tight enough to tear the fabric. Hank is looming over him, all heat and sweat and smelling of soap, whispering soothingly in to his ear.

“It’s okay baby, I got you. I got you,” he murmurs. Connor feels one of Hank’s rough palms flat and warm against his inner thigh, his thumb stroking Connor’s synthetic skin in calming circles.

A profound quiet settles in Connor’s circuits. His eyelids are heavy and he doesn’t bother to open them, only breathes quiet and quick as Hank presses his lips to every inch of Connor’s exposed skin. He wants more though, his appetite not fully sated yet.

Connor recognizes, rather belatedly, that Hank’s fingers have not left his body and that Hank’s mouth is now between his legs. He can feel the heat of Hank’s breath ghost along the swollen mound of his vulva and he squirms, tries to inch towards it and grind himself against Hank’s face.

To his surprise, Hank _lets him_. Hank buries his face in to the heat of Connor’s groin, lips and tongue covering every inch of his labia and clit. Connor rocks against him in a hard, firm pace, keens at the feel of Hank’s tongue diving between his vulva and licking at his insides. He reaches down and grasps Hank’s hair between his fingers as he tries to pull him closer _closer_ , the wet friction of the man’s beard sending shocking impulses along every fiber of muscle and metal.

Connor arches off the bed as he wraps his thighs almost crushingly tight around Hank’s skull to keep him pinned there and never let him go. He’s rutting against Hank’s mouth and fingers like an animal crazed, registering that spike in Hank’s pulse that excites him deep to his core.

His entire body seizes and spasms as he comes again, unexpectedly. Hank is still tonguing him when something inside him snaps like the crack of a whip. There’s a sudden rush of wetness that feels like a stream of water between Connor’s legs and he struggles to right himself, wondering if something’s malfunctioned somewhere.

Connor pushes himself up with trembling hands and looks down at Hank laughing between his thighs, a broad smile on his face. Hank’s shirt is soaking wet and Connor doesn’t know whether to be mortified or worried.

“I take it you didn’t know you could do that.” Hank sounds smug as he stands and unbuttons his shirt, tossing it to the floor with Connor’s sweats from earlier.

Connor frowns. The sheets beneath him are uncomfortably wet. When he checks his thirium and mineral solution levels, they are strangely low. He’ll need to drink up after they’re done.

“This is… normal?”

Hank is pulling his boxers off when he gazes back at Connor. The look on his face is just as smug.

“For some people, yeah,” Hank replies. He grabs a towel from the closet and motions for Connor to scoot over, laying it down over the growing wet spot. “Looks like it’s normal for some androids, too.”

Hank is not embarrassed or concerned, but is oddly amused and… aroused? Connor searches his databases briefly and finds the term that applies to his predicament. His eyes widen a little as Hank spreads his thighs again and crawls between them.

“You just looked it up, didn’t you?” Hank chuckles and cups Connor’s face in his hands.

Connor nods and lets his eyes flutter shut, absorbs the warmth of Hank’s strength against his skin.

“You liked it,” Connor murmurs. He leans in to Hank’s touch and lifts his own hand to rest above Hank’s. He tilts his head back a few inches as Hank plants a kiss to his forehead, smiling.

“Hell yeah. Great fucking ego boost, if you ask me.”

Connor opens his mouth as if to reply but Hank catches it in a kiss, that deliciously skilled tongue sliding along Connor’s own and tasting every inch of his mouth. Connor groans and melts into it, lets his hand slide from Hank’s and along his shoulders to rest at the back of his neck.

Hank is warm and musky, soft yet firm and Connor can’t help feeling like a moth drawn to a flame. His eyes close and his whole body becomes pliable beneath Hank’s touch, his legs spread around Hank’s own as a drumming beat courses through his body to the tune of _Hank Hank Hank_. He falls back against the sheets, forgets about the day as Hank wastes little time in gripping his cock and guiding himself inside Connor.

It is, in a word, sublime. Like a wave of relief washes over Connor, fills every crevice in his body and prickles along his skin like a steady current. Hank is thick, heavy and warm inside him, a heady constant that drags him back to reality. Connor doesn’t think and doesn’t need to when they’re like this. The pressure and drag of Hank’s cock along the walls of his pussy, the way it stretches and fills him, keeps every errant thought at bay.

Connor thinks back to the first time they did this, to the way Hank opened something in him he didn’t know he had. He sees in his mind the look in Hank’s eyes as he watched Connor beneath him, the kindness and devotion in his fingers and palms as they touched him everywhere. Connor closes his eyes, lets his head roll back against the pillows as Hank rocks in to him and thinks of all the ways that Hank loves him.

The primality of Connor’s longing fades with each movement, replaced piece by piece with emotions so strong he cannot hold them in himself. He locks his arms and thighs tighter around Hank, meets him at every thrust and lets everything inside spill out in his words. It might be nonsense, he isn’t really sure, but he buries his face in to the crook of Hank’s neck, breathes in the scent of him and lets the security of Hank’s strength carry him over in to bliss.

Hank comes inside him, whispers in to his ear all the things Connor loves to hear and doesn’t let him go. Connor has never felt so loved, so admired.

He isn’t sure how he ever thought he could go without it.

They disentangle themselves not long after, cleaning and replacing the sheets in silence. Hank grins when they throw them in to the washer and Connor grins back, letting himself be pulled in to Hank’s arms.

Later, as they lay together in bed, Connor watches the steady rise and fall of Hank’s chest as he slips in to sleep. The barest hint of moonlight glitters through the shades as a bone-deep sense of tranquility spirals like the tendrils of a vine through Connor’s systems. He ruminates on the nature of deviancy, on his own existence and what it means to be alive.

He feels love, deep and pure bubble up in his throat and he smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry if your genitalia disappears in flames because of this. Twitter Jericho is a dangerous place.
> 
> This is dedicated to Rox (you know who you are) who supported this fic and waited through all of my 900/Gavin hell for it. I hope it's everything you wished for and more.
> 
> @pricklebrickle on twitter.


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